VENI. VIDI. AMAVI.
We came:
Unaccompanied by any
Thing nor being
Conceptualised in the most unparalleled energy
We had no business seeking
Despite the warnings
We came.
We saw:
Unable to articulate
Unable to speak into existence
The horrors of what became
The very thing we sought
The very thing that killed us all.
Yet continuously manifesting the beauty in the chaos
We loved:
Unapologetically
Unequivocally
Or at least some semblance of it
We fight everyday for it
Bend it.
Break it.
Unpack it.
Steal it.
Beg for it.
We ask permission to even try it.
From whom?
At the end we say
Because what else can we say:
We came. We saw. We loved.
II.
In moonlight, black boys look blue,
In moonlight, our mothers reveal their truths,
See, nobody understands the struggle of the black man, like the black woman,
Yet, nobody disrespects the black queen like the black king.
So here we are,
At a crossroad,
Where the world tells me I’m too bold,
And my black king tells me to watch my tone,
Unaware that through me the words of his mothers flow.
But the black queen sees the royalty in his eyes,
Doesn’t know how to correct the ignorance he resides
In,
Doesn’t recognise that it is through her he came to be
Through her he is named royalty,
In her limbs he became the man he is
Through her breasts he gained the power of the earth
And Mother Nature crowned him with her leaves,
So, here we are,
The black king has forgotten his roots,
Forgotten the oracles his mothers prayed to,
The gods she sacrificed to,
The story of his emancipation ingrained in each lash,
That scarred her back,
She poured her essence from the roses between her thighs,
So...
In moonlight black boys look blue,
Only because it is
In moonlight our mothers reveal their truths,
For
In moonlight our mothers sacrificed their bodies,
And buried their souls into the trees,
So that every black king could see,
That the very essence of his being,
Is engraved in every-thing.
ODÚ OMO ADÈYEMO
They say,
There is something in a name
Well, then,
Here’s mine:
I AM:
Esther Moyósòre Olùsolà Amókè Adèyemo
Yes it is a mouthful,
Bt its not for you.
No, not to:
theorise
Standardise
exotify
No, you see, I gather these names:
my names.
And I lay them in the sun,
A spiritual landscape,
A generational lineage
For me to inherit.
No, you see, my names do not conjure an idyllic Africa
An essentialised motherland with spears, bows, and arrows.
No, you see, my names do not respond to decisions made around a Berlin conference table
No, they do no begin when You encountered Sángò, Óshun, Yemoja.
No.
I AM:
Esther Moyósòre Olùsolà Amókè Adèyemo
17 Vowels, 16 Consonants…
Well, in your language.
In mine…
I AM:
Omo Amókè Ade.
The Window
I have seen brother kill brother; sister betray sister:
Yet I have beheld the true essence of love,
I have seen self destruction because of the false reality I have shown;
But I have also shown the beauty and wonders of life: I have shown the birth of a nation,
I show you how insignificant you are: a small drop in an endless ocean
Yet I have shown you how everything you see is already yours; how everything you wish is already yours
I am the paradox that is life; the freedom gained through confinement.
Re-Member
I gather up shards of me,
Sharp,
Indistinguishable,
Nevertheless, me,
And I put them in my pen,
That’s why it — she — doesn’t work.
I gather up shards of me,
And lay them in the sun:
A neon line in the great white,
A fiery gaze, full of sound,
A splitting laughter that sparkles in the light,
An unintentional port in the storm.
Iridescent ashes in a blue sky,
Purple haze, an Iliad,
A series of miseries and disastrous events,
Iná jó, ògiri ò sá.
I gather them up,
These shards,
They re-member me.